it came unexpectedly,
it always does.


my father, head bowed in submission,
the heavy weight of survivor's guilt seemed to be ageing him;
pulling him towards the very end she was consumed by,
before my very eyes.

i could've sworn he looked like a black angel.
death himself would have stopped and recognised a fellow spirit,
specially when he bent down and kissed her on the forehead.

as his face flickered, all i felt was doubt.
one of his faces stared me down, challenging.
who is this man?
unrecognizable brethren, kin made out of corrosive copper.
double-faced, double-timed, double-edge razor sharp blade.

his wings parted slightly, metaphorically.
they couldn't fit in the room so they expanded until we were floating in the abyss:
him, her, me (a witness) plus dozens of mute worshippers.

in the end, we left her behind.
said our goodbyes, and visited her again but she was gone....
materialistic prices reduced to ashes, just like her.
nothing more than a memory.
nothing less for those of us who remember what her carnal facade held.


now we sit, because in reality we didn't even move in the first place.
i guess i should've seen it coming, the warnings were there...
my first funeral.


as we exited the church,
my hand hadn't even left the wooden wormhole when she whispered

                      "there will be another."